


Could Not Undo What Was Done to You

by ChasingRabbits



Series: Rock 'n' Roll Queer Bar [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom Castiel, Gay Bar, Harvelle's Roadhouse, Human Castiel, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Marijuana, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Recreational Drug Use, Stoner Castiel, Top Dean, goofy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Dean runs away from home, Sam turns up at Harvelle's Roadhouse to finally make contact with his lost brother. </p><p>With Sam's visit, his sexuality and his life with his partner, Castiel, end up coming out of the closet.  </p><p>Along with a few of Dean's inner demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Not Undo What Was Done to You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to the first installment in the series, "Smells Like Queer Spirit". I suggest you read that one before you read this one, as the two have a large overlap. 
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from "Eyes Wide Open" by GrooveLily

For a hot minute, Cas wonders if he’s still asleep, having one of those hash-induced lucid dreams.

Because that is undoubtedly Sam Winchester that just walked into the Roadhouse, and that’s one of those things that just _isn’t possible_.

Right?

It’s stupid to run from him, since Sam would have no idea who he is, but that’s exactly what Cas does anyway. He darts back to the break room, where Dean kicks back on the couch with his headphones over his ears.

Cas shakes him by the shoulder, jolting Dean out of his trance. He furrows his brows and pushes one of his headphones off his ears, “What’s up?”

“Sam is here,” is what tumbles out of Cas’ mouth.

Dean sits up, eyebrows settled in a thick line, and asks, “Sam who?”

“Your brother,” Cas explains, frantic edge in his voice because _who else would he be talking about?_

Dean, understandably, doesn’t buy it right away.

“You’re seein’ things, man,” he says. “Of all the gin joints in all the world, he walks into mine? Yeah, right.”

“You’re assuming that he’s here by accident,” Cas points out. “I’m willing to bet he knows exactly where he is.”

“If that’s even him,” Dean’s shoulders go up, his spine stiffens. “Which you know it probably isn’t.”

As fate (or coincidence or what have you) would have it, Charlie bursts into the room, flush high on her cheeks and large eyes opened as wide as they can go.

“What’s up?” Dean asks.

“Uh,” her voice goes high. “There’s a, um. A Sam Winchester out at the bar. For you.”

Cas gives Dean this imploring look that takes him from irritated skeptic to absolute panic. He drops his iPod, but is otherwise still as still can be.

“Fuck,” is the first thing he says.

“What should I tell him?”

“Obviously you’re going to talk to him,” says Cas, but Dean shoots him a dirty look. “Oh, don’t give me that face. He went to the trouble of finding you and you know you’ll just feel like shit if you don’t.”

“Thanks, Cas, that’s helpful,” Dean scowls.

“The truth hurts, baby,” Cas leans against the desk behind him. His mellow has been officially harshed for the evening, and what’s worse is that now Dean’s has been as well.

“Dean?” Charlie prompts again.

“Fuck, tell him I’ll just… meet him after the bar closes,” Dean rubs his temples. “That’ll give me time.”

“Time for what?” Cas asks. “Just go talk to him now, it’ll be easier that way.”

“No, because I’m talking to him without you here,” Dean glares pointedly at Cas.

“What did I do?”

“You’re not facilitating this little reunion,” Dean explains very plainly. “You’re gonna go home with Gabe and let me do this, got it?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. Normally he can handle a bossy Dean; in fact, he kind of gets off on it normally. This is different, though. Dean isn’t telling him to drop his pants and wait on the bed and _god help you if you touch yourself before I get to you_.

Dean is banishing him from an important moment in his life, through which Cas would like to support him.

“Fine,” he replies lightly. “But we can’t afford to make bail for you, so… keep that in mind.”

The rest of the night is tense. Cas works diligently through it, keeping an eye on Sam the whole time. All he does is type on his computer and text on his phone. Dean would kill him if he went to talk to him without having been properly introduced, but that’s all he wants to do.

Thank god he’s sober, because that is exactly what he would do otherwise.

By the time the night ends, Dean is shaking. He’s spent the night working in back, taking inventory rather than coming back up front. Cas leans against the doorjamb of the back room and watches as Dean winces at the notations on his clipboard.

“You need to get your eyes checked,” says Cas.

“You need to get your face checked,” Dean returns, pinnacle of maturity that he is. Cas walks up to him and cups his face in his hands, guiding his eyes up to meet his.

“You’re absolutely positive that you don’t want me to stay,” he offers.

Dean nods, drawing in a quivering breath. Cas tilts his head up and brings him into a kiss.

“I love you,” he strokes Dean’s hair as he pulls back.

“I know,” Dean swallows. “I love you too. Uh, thanks. For not, like… pressing it.”

They kiss one more time before Dean shoos him away. Cas makes his way out to the car while Dean makes his way to the front of the bar. Gabriel is nowhere to be seen, so Cas texts, _‘Where are you?_ ’

‘ _Watching the show_ ’ he gets back almost immediately.

It’s not five minutes before Gabriel comes trudging out of the Roadhouse, perturbed scowl etched into his face.

“Kicked out?”

“People don’t appreciate the humor of a good Jerry Springer reference,” Gabriel rolls his eyes.

The drive back home is quiet, save for Gabriel singing along to some pop song Cas has heard dozens of times in the last couple of weeks.

Once they’re home, Gabriel has decided they’re far enough away to declare, “He’s kind of a dweeb.”

“Who, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel pulls a joint out of the box on their coffee table. He puts it between his lips and lights it. “Like you before you got cool.”

“I don’t abide by flattery,” Cas shakes his head. Gabriel snorts and passes the joint, which Cas takes gratefully.

“I couldn’t really get a read on him,” he ponders aloud.

“Oh, pardon the fuck outta me, Miss Cleo,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I didn’t realize you’d be consulting the fucking oracle.”

Cas rolls his eyes and flops onto the couch, where he and Gabe pass the joint back and forth. His high comes on gradually, just a slight elevation that has him watching the TV with rapt attention.

“Could you imagine not talking to anyone in our family for ten years?” Gabriel asks then.

“I can only fantasize for so many hours in a day,” Cas returns, flat.

“I’d be bummed, man,” Gabriel sighs, having now taken the rest of the joint all for himself.

“I think Dean _is_ bummed about it,” Cas considers, wriggling his toes together in his socks.

Not that Dean would ever deign to say something like, _“I’m going to call my little brother because I miss him.”_

That is not the Winchester way, Cas has realized.

After a little while, Cas gives up on waiting up for Dean to come home. Gabriel has already turned in, leaving Cas to watch _American Dad!_ on his own. He flicks off the TV and stretches his arms high above his head.

He doesn’t bother getting into pajamas, just shucks his jeans and sits himself down on the floor. Dean is going to be tense when he gets home, he can feel it, so Cas figures he may as well get himself as zen as possible.

If he’s calm, Dean tends to calm down.

He lines up his spine and crosses his legs in front of him.

His elbows come to rest on his knees.

He takes in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out.

He can hear a car pull up outside and a key unlocking the front door. In some Pavlovian response, Cas perks up as soon as the low rumble of Dean’s voice hits his ears. He wants to dash out and hug Dean as close as he can, to squash him in his arms before Dean can squash himself with his _thinking_.

He hears another voice though, Sam’s voice, and he refrains.

He sits, mostly because he smoked a little more than he thought and hasn’t committed fully to the effort of standing up and moving to the bed, and waits patiently for Dean to come to him.

The door opens and Dean steps inside.

Cas rolls to his feet.

“Hey,” he says.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Cas,” Dean answers.

“You don’t have to,” Cas shakes his head.

“He’s, uh,” Dean pulls open the top drawer of their dresser. “He’s staying the night.”

“Dean—”

“Cas, I’ve got a fuck of a headache,” Dean sighs. “I just wanna go to bed.”

Cas frowns, but nods anyway. He climbs into bed and waits for Dean to do the same. Dean shuts off the light and shuffles under the covers, rolling over with his back to Cas. It’s been a while since he’s been iced out like this.

It fucking sucks.

Dean sniffs hard  and clears his throat, and then shifts a few times.

“Dean,” Cas whispers.

“What.”

“Would you stop being a stubborn ass and come here?”

Dean rolls over, looking at Cas like he’s just asked him to slay a nine-story-high dragon.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I want to hold you,” Cas states. With Dean sometimes it’s just best to be forward.

“And if I don’t wanna be held?” Dean poses. Cas rolls his eyes.

“Like either of us really believes that.”

Dean glowers at him, but after a few moments he scoots into Cas and gives him a halfhearted, “Fuck you.”

“I know, baby,” Cas wraps him up in his arms. He presses kisses into Dean’s hair, over his forehead and down his nose.

“Stop,” Dean whines.

“Nope,” Cas shakes his head. “Can’t do it. You’re pulling me in with your tractor beam of sad puppy face.”

“Man, fuck you,” Dean pushes his face away.

“Your brother’s right out there, that’s not a good idea.”

“You’re such a dick.”

Cas rolls them until Dean is below him, and drapes his body over his.

“Have I crumbled your resolve yet?” he asks.

“s'just another brick in the wall,” Dean shakes his head. Cas runs his fingertips up Dean’s arms and his neck, presses his lips to his chin.

“I love it when you get all emotionally stunted on me,” he murmurs.

“Is this you trying to talk to me?”

Cas covers Dean’s lips with his and snakes a hand down between them. Pissy though he is, Dean’s been getting a little stiff against Cas.

Dean sighs and presses up into Cas’ hand.

“You good?” Cas asks.

Dean nods and lets his eyes slip shut. Cas licks his lips and dips his hand under Dean’s sweatpants. He arches into the touch and Cas smiles against him. Dean is embarrassingly easy to distract when it comes down to a hand in his pants.

Dean’s breath comes softly against Cas’ mouth, and he sticks his arms up above his head. Cas tongues along the lines of Dean’s tattoo, the music notes and the staff lines that make up the swirling refrain of _Hey Jude_.

Dean moans softly as Cas’ palm slicks with precome and glides over him. There’s nothing more to this, just a quick little something to get Dean’s mind settled so he can sleep. Sometimes this is the only thing that works.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whimpers.

“I know, baby,” Cas kisses his forehead. “You’re okay.”

Dean’s breath picks up and he whines as his body goes taut with his orgasm. He pulses come all over his stomach and Cas’ hand, remarkably silent through the whole thing. Then again, Dean’s never had a problem with being quiet.

“Feel better?” Cas asks as he grabs a wad of tissues from beside the bed and mops them up.

“A little, yeah,” Dean rubs his hands over his face.

“Good,” Cas yawns and rolls over back beside Dean. “Come back over here.”

Dean obliges and molds himself against Cas, burying his nose in his t-shirt.

“You’re all smoky,” he mumbles.  

“Should I change?”

“Nah, smells nice,” Dean yawns now. “Smells like you.”

They’re silent for a few minutes, and then Dean asks, “What the fuck, though, right?”

“Yup,” Cas nods back.

“I mean,” Dean sits up, blankets slipping off of him as he crosses his legs in front of him. “Seriously, what the _fuck_?”

“Never let it be said that my lover is not eloquent,” Cas rubs his fingers into his eyes before he too sits up. “Dean, this is a good thing.”

“I know,” Dean sighs and hides his face in his hands.

Cas reaches out a hand to grab one of Dean’s.

“He’s tall,” is all Dean can think to say.

“Yes, he is,” Cas nods. “We’ll see your tall brother tomorrow, okay? Let’s sleep now.”

“Even if I fall asleep on you?” Dean asks, still not looking up.

“You get your one free pass,” Cas nods. “Above the covers, though. You’re a living furnace.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean rolls his eyes, but the edge is gone as soon as they’re tucked up against each other again. Cas plays with Dean’s hair and breathes in and out steadily, calmly.

Dean’s breathing synchs to his, and it’s not long until he’s out like a light against him.

As soon as he knows Dean is safe in sleep, Castiel allows himself to follow suit.  

**oo**

Sam is awake. Cas can see him shifting on the couch as the coffee percolates softly into the ready pot below. He pours himself a cup and holds it close, hoping he can get by without Sam trying to talk to him.

No such luck.

“Good morning, Sam,” Cas greets as Sam sits bolt upright on the pull-out mattress.

“Morning,” Sam’s eyebrows furrow, his eyes studying him carefully. “Who the hell are you?”

“Castiel Novak,” Cas introduces himself, shaking Sam’s hand. “You can call me Cas, everyone else does.”

There’s little to no reception of this on Sam’s face, and all over again Cas feels like he’s in middle school, trying to make friends. He clears his throat and shifts, and tries again, “It’s nice to meet you. Dean speaks very fondly of you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam scoots half an inch backward, away from Cas. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Cas smiles at him, hoping that this is the right way to reassure Sam that he is not a threat. As long as he doesn’t bare his teeth… he saw something on Animal Planet that said that was bad.

“There’s more in the pot, if you’d like a cup,” Cas lifts his mug, but as Sam does not look prepared to do anything but gawk at Cas like a sideshow freak, he figures he’ll just leave the interaction before it turns sour.

Back in the bedroom, Dean is still passed out. So, Cas sets down the coffee and starts in on a few stretches to wake himself up.

Dean stirs at the smell of coffee, and Cas has to fight the warm wave of affection that laps at his insides and compels him to move forward and roll into Dean in a lazy morning fuck.

“That for me?” Dean gestures to the chipped green mug.

“Have at it,” Cas nods from where he’s bent in half, face to his knees.

“Underwear yoga,” Dean rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “My favorite part of the day.”

He sips at the coffee and runs a contented hand through his hair.

“I thought you liked naked yoga,” Cas comes back upright.

“I do,” Dean nods, grinning to himself.

And then the night before hits him like a freight train, and his face falls.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters. “Oh fuck, oh _fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Cas nods.

“That wasn’t a dream?”

“No, it was not,” Cas shakes his head. “You got a handjob out of it, though.”

“Yeah, I can get a handjob for a lot less,” Dean sighs and takes another sip of coffee.

And then he realizes how this coffee came to be here, and he looks up at Cas, “You talked to him, didn’t you?”

“My brother-not-technically-in-law is on my couch and I’m not supposed to say hello?” Cas raises an eyebrow.

“Christ,” Dean mutters and rolls to his feet. “I gotta go talk to him.”

“Hey,” Cas grabs him and pulls him into a kiss. Dean goes pliant in his arms, and Cas guides him back into bed.

This is two handjobs he’s gotten out of this ordeal now.

Not that Cas is keeping count.

* * *

 

Dean wakes up tucked against Castiel’s chest, warm and sated for only a few moments before he remembers, once again, that Sam is out in his living room.

“You up?” Dean asks.

“Nope,” Cas replies.

“Great,” Dean slips out of bed and makes sure his clothes are clean before padding out into the living room. Sam sits upright on the pullout, knees drawn up to his chest as some infomercial flicks over the screen.

His chest constricts, even after last night. It’s strange seeing Sam grown up, twice as tall and just as gangly. There’s so much he wants to ask, wants to know, and he wishes he could just suction cup a freaky mind machine to Sam’s head and just synch their brains together so they didn’t have to fucking _talk_ about it. Dean would just _know_ , and so would Sam.

Dean snaps himself out of it, because that’s not how shit works. Over the years, Ellen has all but hogtied him and made him spell out everything he’s feeling time and time and time again.

And Cas has cracked him open and patched him back up in ways that Dean had once never even imagined.

Shit.

Dean clears his throat, “You met Cas, huh?”

Sam startles and looks back at Dean with that fucking puppy face. Why with the puppy face? You’d think he’d have knocked that shit off by now.

“ _Castiel_?” Sam enunciates, giving Dean a very pointed look. “Yes, I met him.”

Emphasis so very obviously on the ‘him’.

Dean rubs his eyes and sits on the couch; he’s been with Cas so long, been out for even longer. Everyone he knows and cares about here knows about them, and about him.

“You were so cool last night,” he yawns. “Figures, you hadn’t met him yet.”

“I’m cool,” Sam’s voice gets a little higher as he so adamantly shakes his head. “So cool. Just… caught me off guard is all.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and leans forward, smearing his hands down his face.

“You are so not cool with this.”

“I am!” Sam insists, much _too insistently_ , if you ask Dean. “Honest to god,” Sam promises then. “I’m a bleeding heart ‘No on H8’ liberal.”

Dean studies Sam carefully. Hippie hair, undoubtedly responsibly-sourced clothing…

He lets out a laugh, “Figures.”

“Dean, you do realize that this is a fuckton for me to process, right?” Sam’s eyebrows go up, and when he sees Dean’s eyes roll back he continues, “I’m not mad, or judging, or anything like that.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s not your place to,” Dean asserts, decades dormant fire starting to rise up in the put of his stomach. He sees Sam falter, though, and reminds himself that, fuck, this isn’t some asshole passing him on the street, or Cas’ parents or his dick brothers.

This is Sammy.

“And,” he sighs, “It’s nobody’s place to talk about this on an empty stomach. C’mon, let’s grab some grub.”

He pats Sam on the shoulder and stands, but Sam remains where he is, running his fingers through his hair.

God, this kid needs a haircut.

And, as it turns out, a shower. Dean gags on the smell of Sam’s _vegan shampoo_ or whatever the fuck, and tries like hell to get the stench out of his nose while he gets ready to go to Moseley’s.

He grabs the little box—a wooden one that has been made to look like a treasure chest—and pops it open. It’s where Cas keeps his weed and his paraphernalia, and after a whiff of that shampoo Dean is ready to bury himself in the earthy aroma that he’s come to associate with Cas.

With the man he loves.

He dresses quickly and checks on Cas. The blue in his hair has started fading to green, which means they’ll have to dye it again soon. It sticks up in every direction, like Cas’ hair always does, and out of habit Dean reaches down and runs his fingers through it.

It’s thick and sturdy, and the pressure on his scalp makes Cas sigh happily in his sleep.

“Kinky fucker,” Dean chides to nobody in particular before he sets out to put the pull out bed back in its place.

Of course, Sam would walk back out right as Dean is losing a battle with a fucking sofa.

He looks up as soon as he manages to stuff the thing back into submission, and asks, “Ready?”

Sam nods, but then sits to put on his shoes, and Christ, some things never change. Just as Sam is ready to go, though, Dean tells him to hang on and moves back to his room tell Cas they’re leaving.

“Hey,” Dean presses his shoulder lightly. Cas’ blue eyes flutter open and he gives Dean a hazy smile.  “Me’n Sammy are gonna get some breakfast, you want anything?”

“No,” Cas stretches. “Have fun.”

Dean smiles back at him and dips down to give him a kiss goodbye.

He reminds himself that he can climb back into bed with Cas any day, that Sammy is here right now and who knows how long that’ll last?

“Oh, wait,” Cas grabs him. “Can you get me more papers while you’re out?”

“You got it,” Dean smiles and heads out. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

“Papers?” asks Sam as Dean shuts the door.

“Y’know, papers,” Dean mimes rolling a joint, but that’s not registering with Sam. “Zigzags? Rolling papers.”

“Oh,” Sam nods, voice high with that non-judgmental judgment thing.

What can Dean say? His boyfriend is a total stoner.

Dean thanks Christ they found a place near Moseley’s. It makes getting breakfast when you’re hungover that much easier. Andy’s at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. Good, this’ll save him a trip Dean nods Sam over to a booth and stops by the counter.

“Hey, Andy,” Dean slaps him on the back. He jumps, sunken eyes going wide for about half a second before he realizes who it is that’s touched him.

“Hey, Dean,” he greets. “What’s up?”

“You got any papers on you?” he asks.

“I was born in Oklahoma,” Andy comes back, dry as ever.

“Delightful,” Dean nods. “Never let it be said you don’t have a dazzling wit. C’mon, man, I don’t wanna run all the way to the fuckin’ head shop to get papers.”

Andy rolls his eyes and digs around in his pocket. He slaps a pack of zigzags on the countertop, “Ten.”

“Christ, Andy, if you wanted to fuck me all you had to do was ask,” Dean slaps a five dollar bill down on the counter. Andy sighs and hands over the papers, and Dean gives him a wink and a slap on the shoulder in thanks.

He sits down across from Sam and brings his coffee to his lips. It’s not a minute later when Sam lays in, “Okay, how in the fuck did this happen?”

Something tugs Dean’s lips upward into a smile.

A smile he hasn’t smiled since Sam first asked him how to talk to girls.

“Depends,” he comments lightly. “What’s ‘this’?”

“You’re dating a guy, Dean,” Sam explains, as if Dean isn’t aware.

 _Dating_ … grow the fuck up, Sam. ‘Savagely fucking the same guy for the better part of a decade’ doesn’t have the succinctness to it, though.

“So, you’re… bi?” Sam asks, and Dean pauses just as he’s about to take another sip of coffee.

Well then.

“Thank you for not assuming ‘gay’,” Dean clears his throat and swallows. He’s said it before, so why the hell is it so hard this time? “Yeah, I’m bisexual.”

Sam nods, eyebrows crunching as he works out the information.

“Is that why you left home?” he asks, and there it is. Dean can see that thirteen-year-old kid chasing him down the walkway of their house, asking Dean if he was okay.

Shit.

Dean plays off the strangled noise in the back of his throat with a laugh, and thankfully Sam buys it.

“Man, you could fill a book with the reasons I left home,” he covers further. “That was not one of ‘em.”

And then Sam flashes him that puppy face and god _damn_ it what the fuck is this kid’s issue?

“Look, man,” Dean begins, “I didn’t leave because of you, all right? Things just… got bad. And when I called up Uncle Bobby, he told me I should just get out for a little while, clear my head, but,” he breaks eye contact then in favor of focusing on the table. His fingers follow scratches in the worn wooden tabletop, tracing the route he took with Benny so many years ago.

“Once I started running I couldn’t stop.”

Sam nods, but doesn’t say anything. Thank god.

“Bet dad barely even noticed I was gone,” Dean diverts and sits back in the booth. “How is the son of a bitch, anyway?”

The look on Sam’s face is one Dean has never seen before. His mouth opens and closes a few times, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to communicate by Morse code. Except if he was, what he was saying was the Morse code equivalent of a keysmash.

“You,” Sam swallows, “You never kept tabs on us?”

“Okay, if we can spare ourselves the Midol moments please,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I kinda needed some space.”

He’s been fucking busy, all right?

And Ellen has threatened castration more than once if he even put one toe towards running back to that god-awful situation.

Sam licks his lips and frowns.

Uh-oh.

“Dean, dad,” he chokes.

Oh fuck.

“Dad died.”

The words are soft, barely a breath.

How can they be so heavy and still hardly make a sound?

“Shit,” he reaches up and grabs at the scruff of his neck. “When?”

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

“About a year after you left,” Sam explains. “I, uh. I went to live with Uncle Bobby after that. He was good. Better, in a lot of ways.”

God fucking _damn_ it. Years he’s been wondering what his dad would do if he ever saw his life, knew about everything he had. He’s wondered if dad would like Cas, or if he’d even speak to Dean once he knew that Dean liked guys.

And he’s been gone longer than Dean has even known Cas.

“I’m really sorry,” Sam says then. “I would’ve told you the second it happened, but I didn’t know where the hell you were.”

“It’s fine,” Dean manages. Because it is.

It’s fine that dad cashed in his fucking chips.

It’s fine that Sam got to go live with Uncle Bobby.

It’s fine that Sam can so casually mention that dad is gone.

It’s _fucking fine._

The waitress sets their food down in front of them, and Dean can’t be more grateful for the distraction. He shovels food into his face and just gives himself a moment to digest the situation.

“How’d he die?” he finally manages to ask, and Sam looks down at his pancakes.

“Liver failure,” his lips squeeze around the word, his eyebrows go up and he _still_ won’t look Dean in the eye. “Uncle Bobby and I didn’t find out he’d been diagnosed with any kind of liver disease until he was gone.”  

“That fuckin’ bastard,” Dean mutters, well aware that he shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

But what a fuckin’ _bastard_.

Dean can tell Sam wants to keep talking, but he’s tapped out for the day. His head hurts now, and all he can keep thinking is that dad is gone

He knows he’s been away for a long time, that even if he was still alive that their relationship wouldn’t be the same, but still.

Dad was his dad.

He picks up the tab for breakfast and doesn’t let Sam argue.

He needs out and he needs it now.

He speed walks back home, Sam barely able to keep up with him. Upon coming back home, Dean is greeted by the familiar scene of his boyfriend and brother-not-technically-in-law folded up on the couch, bong between them, playing Mario Kart.

It’s a sight he’d come home to every day and he’d never be tired of it.

Dean needs his hands on Cas, needs to feel his warmth pressed against him and smell that skunky smoke mixed with that fucking nag champa incense he _insists_ on burning.

Cas shushes him, because they’re on Banshee Boardwalk and he and Gabe are so high out of their minds that they’re going as slowly as they possibly can so they won’t fall off the boardwalk.

Dean presses his lips to the back of Cas’ neck and wraps his arms around him.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, game now paused as he looks over Dean with those concerned eyes. Dean presses a kiss to Cas’ shoulder.

“I love you,” he says.

Because knowing that he no longer has someone who, while infuriating and abusive and downright dickly, he _had_ loved, the least he can do is hold on tight to the people who remain.

**oo**

Dean knows he should be a little more hesitant about leaving Sam in Cas’ hands. There’s no telling what Cas will say or do, especially since Dean knows he’s been champing at the bit to get to know Sam.

So much of him tries to pull it together, to sit up and tell Sam to stay so he can make them grilled cheese sandwiches and drain a few beers while they shoot the shit and watch TV.

He just can’t really get up off the bed once he’s down, and Cas tells him not to exert himself.

“Just relax,” he murmurs low in Dean’s ear. Dean would give anything to have those arms wrapped around him, for Cas to spoon him and pet his hair and lull him to sleep with that gorgeous voice, but Cas has to go to work, especially since Ellen gave Dean the night off.

He hasn’t told Cas why he can’t get out of bed, but Cas treats him with love and understanding anyway.

God, Cas is way too good to him.

“Between you and me,” Cas presses his lips against Dean’s ear lobe. “That Amnesia will put you right to sleep.”

Dean moans. He doesn’t like being high by himself, but the thought of being sacked out for a couple of hours without even the promise of waking up makes for an enticing offer.

“I love you,” Cas kisses him on the jaw, and then once on the lips.

“Love you too,” Dean mutters.

It’s another few minutes before Dean hears the front door close, and he sits up. The house is totally silent now, and Dean wishes for a split second that he’d just sucked it up and gone to work. At least then he wouldn’t be stuck stewing.

He gets up and grabs Cas’ box off of the dresser. Inside, there’s a pre-rolled joint, with a post-it note attached to it.

There’s a little chain of hearts, and a, “ _feel better, handsome_ ” in Cas’ neat, tiny handwriting. It’s not Cas’ lighter in the box either, but a gimmicky Bic lighter covered in hearts that Dean had given him on Valentine’s day a few years ago.

Dean puts the joint between his lips and lights it. The acrid smoke curls into his lungs and burns every single nook and cranny. He coughs it back out, like a fucking idiot, and takes another couple of hits before he puts it out in Cas’ ash tray.

He doesn’t know how Cas functions so well when he smokes as much as he does.

Dean shuffles back to the bed and flops down on his stomach. Already his head buzzes as it soars up into the stratosphere, limbs becoming suspended in midair—it’s as though he could do anything if he could just find it in himself to _move_.

He presses Cas’ pillow against his face and breathes deeply.

His eyes slip shut.

He thinks he may want to roll over, he’s not sure.

He’s asleep before he can decide.

**oo**

Dean wakes up ravenous.

He didn’t dream.

That was nice.

He’s aware that he walked to the kitchen, but it all seems a little surreal. Fuck, he forgets how much he hates being high.

And then he wonders just how stupid it would be to go get a burger at Moseley’s.

The kitchen is a bust. There’s no food in the fridge, really, because their normal shopping day is today, and pardon the fuck out of him if he didn’t want to go pick up a box of Eggos after the shit storm that was breakfast.

The front door opens, and Dean frowns. It’s not that late, is it?

Cas and Sam walk in.

Two people he loves, two people he thought would never cross paths, stand together as though they’ve known each other for years. Cas is wearing one of his shirts, and Dean smiles. 

“Hey, good-lookin’,” he greets, THC still making his heart all ooey gooey and head all fluffed up with cotton. 

Cas smiles back at him, and it’s the most gorgeous sight he’s ever seen. 

“Hey, stud,” he replies, thick and husky and low. “How’re you feeling?” 

Dean makes a noise and rubs at his eyes, and not a second later he’s got Cas’ arms around him and his lips pressing softly against his. 

Cas tastes so good. He doesn’t even taste like anything in particular, just  _good_. 

Dean hears Sam make a noise and looks up. He looks like he’s trying to fight that judgmental face, which Dean supposes he appreciates. 

“You have fun tonight, Sammy?” he asks, keeping his and Cas’ foreheads pressed together. He shuts his eyes and lets Cas’ warmth seep into him. 

“Yeah, very educational,” Sam nods, fatigue weighing down his voice. “I learned that there are way more verses to American Pie than I remembered.” 

“That’s a given,” Dean laughs. “Charlie make you sing it with her?” 

“And Gabe,” Castiel murmurs against Dean, a smile lilting his voice. “A welcome into the family.”

Dean chuckles into Cas’ shoulder because fuck, he can just see it now. It’s only been a day and Dean can tell Sam is just as much of a tightass as he’s ever been. He opens his eyes only to see Sam staring at his phone, smiling. 

Dean clears his throat and Sam looks up. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Sam supplies. 

“Congratulations,” Dean yawns. 

With Sam in the bathroom, Cas pulls away from Dean and heads back into their room. Dean follows, and sits down on the bed, feeling strangely content. 

“How’s work?” he asks as he watches Cas shuck his jeans in favor of the one hideous fucking pair of Zubaz pants he thrifted however many years ago. 

How any of those atrocities made it out of the 90s without being burned in reparation for the crimes they committed is a fucking mystery in and of itself. 

“Man, take those off,” Dean begs. “They’re harshing my mellow.” 

“They’re comfy,” Cas sticks out his tongue and slips Dean’s shirt off of his shoulders, tossing it back into Dean’s face. “Don’t question it.”

Allowing himself his one catty comment per decade, Dean says, “The only thing I’m questioning is your taste.” 

“Oh, I’ve been fucking you for six years,” Cas comes forward and crawls up on Dean’s lap, straddling his thighs, “You should’ve started questioning my tastes  a long, long time ago.” 

“Hey!” Dean giggles and then claps a hand over his mouth. 

Cas kisses him, and it’s kind of toothy because now he’s grinning too. 

He pulls back and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and  _wow_  that feels good. 

“Happy boy,” Cas hums, and kisses his forehead. “Is everything okay?” 

Dean swallows at that, because no, it’s definitely not, but right now he doesn’t care enough to give it the time of day. 

“Can we watch Buffy?” 

“Of course we can.” 

Cas lets Dean stand so he can grab their laptop from under the bed. While he navigates to their Netflix page, Cas does his nighttime wind-down yoga stuff. Dean’s tried to do that stuff with him before, and Dean is just… not bendy. At all. 

“Hey,” Sam pokes his head in the door. 

“What’s up, Sammy?” 

“Uh, I just wanted to let you know that I got a flight back home tomorrow.”

Dean looks to Cas, who rolls upright and stretches out his arms behind his back. 

“You do realize you drove here, right?” he asks, and Dean tries not to snort. 

“Yes, I do,” Sam returns pointedly and looks down at his hands. “But, y’know… the car needs some work, and I sure as hell can’t do it.” 

He looks up at Dean.

Holy shit. 

He’s not—he’s not saying what he thinks he’s saying. 

Sam gives him a smile, though, and Dean leaps to his feet to wrap his baby brother up in the biggest hug he can manage. 

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he hears Cas snark from across the room. 

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean snaps back. “God, we can finally get rid of that fucking Honda.”

“Hey!” Cas exclaims. It was the cheapest car they could find that was still somewhat salvageable. Dean fixed it up as best he could, but it’s still a piece of shit. 

“It’s such a fucking eyesore, Cas,” Dean mutters. 

“It’s nice!” 

It is not nice. It was not nice when they bought it, it was not nice when Dean fixed it, and it will never be nice. 

You’d think after four years they could stop having this goddamned argument. 

“It’s  _tan_ ,” is where Dean’s line of logic lands. “We drive a tan ’91 Honda Civic. That’s the worst sentence I’ve ever said.” 

Sam laughs, and god, Dean could hear that laugh forever. There were times growing up when he would have gone to extreme lengths to hear that laugh.

And now he’s leaving.

“But hang on,” Dean’s eyebrows furrow. “We don’t mind if you stay a little longer.”

He looks over at Cas, who nods in affirmation.

“Yeah,” Sam grabs the back of his neck. “I’ve got school to get back to.”

School, school… Dean does the math in his head.

“I thought you’d be done with school by now,” he figures.

Sam clears his throat.

“I’m actually in my second year of law school at Berkeley,” he says, shoulders squared and head high.  

“Holy shit,” Dean braces his  hands on his hips. “Cas, we got a non-dick lawyer in the family.”

Cas raises a hand to the ceiling and lets out a, “Hallelujah.”

“And there’s one other thing,” Sam looks down this time, and Dean’s face falls.

Christ, he knows it’s been ten years, but can they just pump the breaks with the whole _shocking revelations_ bit?

“I’m… engaged.”

Dean’s heart doesn’t catch up as quickly as his brain, and still pounds away even though nobody is dead or injured. He glances over at Cas to see Cas staring back at him, waiting to get a read on Dean’s reaction.

Dean looks back at Sam then and asks the least offensive thing that comes to mind.

“What?”

“My girlfriend Jess and I,” Sam pauses, “Uh, fiancé now, I guess. We’re engaged. We’re getting married as soon as I’m done with school.”

Nope.

Not happening.

“Dude, you’re twenty-three.”

“I know,” Sam rolls his eyes.

“And you’re in law school!” Dean exclaims.

“I know that, Dean,” Sam clips back, followed by a strict warning flash in his eyes.

Christ, leave it to Sam, right? Why the hell would he want to get married if he could be some hotshot lawyer with a sweet-ass set of wheels and a bitchin’ penthouse and _every girl he could ever want_?

That’s what lawyers do, he’s pretty sure.

“Look,” Sam sighs. “I know it’s a while off, but I want you to come. And  want you to meet her before then. You’d really like her, and she already likes you.”

Dean lets out a laugh, “That makes sense, she hasn’t met me yet.” He looks down at where Cas has taken to rolling a joint on the floor in favor of having anything to do with this conversation.

“There really is nothing quite like your self-deprecating humor, _dear_ ,” Cas gives him a knowing look before he sucks the joint between his lips, sealing the two papers together.

Dean flips him off.

Fuck him and his gorgeous lips and nimble fingers and smartass mouth.

Cas smirks, “Anytime, anywhere,” and winks.

That’s it.

This man is _asking_ for a good hard fuck as soon as they get the room to themselves.

“Am I going to regret inviting you to the wedding?” Sam groans.

“Probably,” Dean nods then.

“Most people do,” Cas reaffirms, joint dangling from his lips. “We’re a hoot and a half at the bachelor party, though.”

Dean snorts.

Sam wrinkles his nose, “Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not,” Dean shakes his head, and Cas lets out a hum.

Sam doesn’t need to know that every party the pair of them are invited to inevitably ends in public fellatio and partial nudity.

And if it means so much to his baby brother that Dean behave himself for one night somewhere down the line, then he’s more than happy to oblige.

“Hey, man,” he opens up his arms. “C’mere. I’m happy for you.”

Relief washes over Sam’s face and he comes back to hug Dean tight.

“Yeah, man” Sam nods into his shoulder. “I’m happy for you too.”

 

* * *

 

Cas has heard tell of the mythical Impala. He knows that it’s fast, loud, and _the most beautiful piece of machinery ever to have graced this planet_.

Anyone who says it’s foolish to be jealous of a car has clearly never ridden shotgun with Dean at the wheel.

Now he knows why Sam opted for the backseat on the drive to the airport. Dean’s hands don’t just grip the wheel, they _caress_ , as though relearning the body of a long lost lover. He accelerates and lets out a sound of satisfaction.

“Sammy took better care of you than I thought, baby girl,” he coos, patting the dash.

Cas twists in his seat to face Sam, who is texting out something on his phone.

“Is this normal?” he asks.

Sam chuckles and looks up, “You should’ve seen him the first time he was actually allowed to drive it.”

He adds then as an afterthought, “Allowed to, being the operative phrase.”

“Hey, man,” Dean interjects. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Cas rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been driving around Mister Rogers’ fuckin’ Twatmobile of Make-Believe for four years, Cas,” Dean says. “I know you don’t need an invitation, but seriously, suck my dick.”

Sam groans.

The airport isn’t too crowded. Luckily, Sam traveled light and doesn’t need any help with his bags. Dean and Cas still get out of the car to hug him goodbye. Cas gets his hug first, and a murmured request of, “Take care of him, please?”

“I always do.”

He pulls back and gives Sam a smile, “I’m very glad I got to meet you, Sam.”

Sam smiles back. “Me too, Cas.”

His hug with Dean lasts a little longer, as one would expect. Cas knew that Dean missed Sam, but before these last couple of days he never quite realized how much. Cas can go months—and in the case of Michael, years—without seeing his brothers and still not want to see them. Excepting Gabriel, of course.

He thinks of how difficult it would be now to go without seeing Gabriel for a long period of time, and he thinks he understands now why Dean lingers as long as he does.

Sam leaves them with a final wave and they pile back into the car.

Dean’s eyes are red, and he quickly mops up the moisture on his cheeks.

Cas says nothing, just reaches over to take Dean’s hand as he navigates away from the curb and back out onto the road.

Sam cleaned out all but a few tapes from the glove compartment, one of which Dean slides into the cassette player and cranks up loud. Typical Dean behavior: drown out any possibility of talking with heavy metal and long concentrated stares at the road ahead.

When they roll back up in front of the house, Dean doesn’t even wait for Cas to come around the other side of the car and hug him. He just stalks inside without a word.

Well.

That kind of hurts Cas’ feelings. He knows Dean has been having a rough time of it this weekend, and understandably so. Long lost family doesn’t just show up unannounced every day, you know.

Cas did his job and got his partner through the rough patch. And now Dean’s not even going to give him the decency of debriefing the situation, or at the very least let him give him a _goddamned hug_.

Cas follows Dean into the house. It smells good, like warm sugar and chocolate, which must mean Gabe got up to something while they were gone. Dean has not been enticed by the promise of baked goods at all, apparently, and instead lies face down on their bed in their room.

Cas shuts the door behind him.,

“Dean,” he begins.

Dean grunts into Cas’ pillow.

Cas sits down beside him and runs his fingers through Dean’s soft hair. Though Dean doesn’t tell him to knock it off, he’s not exactly receptive to the attention either.

“Dean,” Cas says again after a while. “Will you please talk to me?”

“I don’t want to talk, Cas,” Dean mutters.

“What do you want?”

“A fifth of Jack and a cheeseburger,” says Dean. Cas purses his lips.

“Really?”

“God, just leave me alone!” Dean exclaims, still not looking up from where he’s buried himself.

Cas removes his hand, instantly recalling why he so detests sobriety so much of the time.

“You can’t just tell me to fuck off and expect me to,” says Cas very frankly. “We’re not fourteen, we’re not two idiots in an on-again-off-again, kind-of-but-not-really relationship. I’m your partner, Dean. I share my life with you and you share yours with me, that’s how it works. And I understand that this is difficult, but—”

“My dad died.”

Cas immediately shuts his mouth.

“Dean,” he murmurs. “Oh, Dean… I’m so sorry.”

Dean shrugs in response, so Cas asks, “When?”

“A year after I left,” Dean sniffs and rolls onto his back. “And I only found out yesterday.”

Cas stills at that.

“You found out yesterday?”

Dean nods.

“Yesterday,” Cas repeats. “Dean, when were you going to tell me?”

“I just did!”

“Bullshit, Dean, I pulled it out of you,” Cas scowls. “You and I both know you wouldn’t have said a goddamned thing otherwise.”

“What the fuck does it matter!” Dean shouts back. “He’s been dead for nine years, Cas.”

“Not to you,” Cas stands. “To you your dad just died. That’s a big deal.”

“Cas, you never met my dad,” says Dean. “I’m fine.”

“You are not!” Cas exclaims.

“Dude, fuck off,” Dean snaps, hopping to his feet. “Don’t tell me what I am and what I’m not. I’m fucking _fine_.”

“Nope,” Cas shakes his head. “I’m not going in circles with you. Either we talk about this or we don’t, but telling me that nothing is wrong and that you’re fine isn’t only a lie, but it’s a giant crock of shit.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, though there’s this murderous look in his eye that makes Cas want to reach out and hold him, but also makes him want to grab him and shake him.

Talking may not be easy, but it’s effective.

So, naturally Dean just turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. The front door slams so hard a few moments later that the whole front wall of the house quakes.

“Fuck,” he mutters and sits back on the bed, burying his face in his hands.

He hears the Impala roar down the street, and finds himself wondering if this will be a regular thing now that Dean has his car back. He’s fully aware that his recently replenished stash is just sitting in his treasure chest, waiting to be smoked, but he can’t. He can’t get up and get it.

There’s too much sadness in his chest.

Sadness for his partner, sadness for himself… sadness for the entire situation.  And Dean is so reactive that it’s hard not to set him off.

Cas scrubs his face and just tries to keep a handle on himself.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Gabe pops his head in.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets, though they’re twenty-eight and twenty-nine and ‘kiddo’ has not described either of them in a long time. “You okay?”

“Not even remotely,” Cas shakes his head.

“Anything you need from me?”

Cas looks up at him. It’s so rare that both of them are caught sober at the same time that it’s almost an unrecognizable exchange between them. It’s odd to have no barriers between them, no boisterous deflections or cutting comments or acerbic wit. Sure, there were times when they were kids and neither of them could sleep, when they’d stare up at their ceiling and talk about anything and everything, but they never spoke of it outside the dark space of their room.

They’re Novaks, and Novaks don’t like it when their walls come down.

“What are you making?” asks Cas.

“Chocolate cake,” Gabe shrugs, leaning against the doorjamb. “Couldn’t sit still, y’know? Had to get up and do something with my hands.”

Cas nods.

“Is it ready?” he asks then.

Gabe nods.

“You want a slice?”

Cas nods, and like a lost puppy follows his brother into the kitchen. He sits down at the table and tucks into the massive slice of cake that Gabe sets in front of him, and yes, this is good. This is what he needed.

“Trouble with Doctor Feelings?” asks Gabe as he sits down with his own slice of cake.

“That sounds wildly inappropriate,” Cas remarks.

“Eh, ‘cause it is,” Gabe shrugs. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s cool. I’ll listen if you do, though. I can’t promise I’ll be helpful, but that kinda comes with putting your faith in all this right here.”

He circles his face with his fork and Cas lets a smile slip.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he says, and drops his own fork so that he can pull his brother into a hug. Gabriel stiffens up at that.

“What are you doing?”

“I’d miss you if you were gone,” says Cas.

Gabriel remains silent for a few more moments before he eventually drops his fork and hugs back.

“You too, Cas,” he returns. “Though I don’t know why I had to move here instead of you just coming back to California with me.”

Cas pulls back and gives him a look.

“No, no, you’re right,” Gabe concedes. “Who needs beaches and sunshine and—ow! No hair pulling. That’s fifty dollars extra.”

Cas pulls away and socks him on the shoulder.

**oo**

One, two, three o’clock comes before Castiel hears a knock on the door and startles upright. 

Evidenced by the big blotch of drool on the arm rest, it would appear that Cas fell asleep on the couch while waiting for Dean to return.

“Fuckin’ A,” Cas groans and slides off the couch, shuffling over to the door.  He detests sometimes that he’s absorbed so much of Dean’s patterns of speech, but he supposes it’s inevitable when you’ve been with someone for so long.

He opens the door and finds both Jo and Charlie propping Dean up between them.

Dean groans as soon as he sees Cas.

“You told me we were getting ice cream,” he whines.

“Well, we lied,” Jo pats him on the shoulder. “Where do you want him?”

Cas steps aside and guides them to the couch. Both Jo and Charlie are in their pajamas, and in fact look as though they’ve been roused from sleep.

“What happened?” asks Cas.

“He came over this afternoon,” Charlie explains. “We told him that he was welcome to stay the night, and he was—”

“Until he found our whiskey,” Jo folds her arms.

“Jesus,” Cas sighs. “I’m gonna get him some water.”

“I’ll get it,” Jo says. “It’ll keep me from smackin’ the ever-loving crap outta his sorry ass.”

“s’fuckin’ rude,” Dean scowls.

“Easy there, tiger,” Charlie warns.

Jo returns with a glass of water and a slice of bread. Dean protests, but Jo ends up being able to wrestle the bread into his hand.

“I swear, the amount’a times I’ve had to clean up your sorry ass,” she mutters. “How many times are we gonna do this, Dean?”

“Jo,” Cas places a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing him home, but he’s had a rough weekend. I’m really sorry you were put out.”

Cas walks them to the door, and Charlie turns to ask, “Is this because of the whole Sam thing?”

“I’m sure he’ll discuss it with you when he’s ready,” says Cas. “Thank you, again, for bringing him home.”

“Call us,” Charlie hums, giving Cas a comforting squeeze on his upper arm. “Let us know how he’s doing.”

“Tomorrow, preferably,” Jo stifles a yawn against the back of her hand.

Cas nods, “I will. Goodnight.”

He shuts the door and turns to see Dean slouched into himself on the couch, face pinched like he’s got about ten years of vomit he’s trying to hold back.

“Do you need to throw up?” he asks.

Dean nods.

It takes a moment for him to move, opting for the kitchen sink over the bathroom.

They are equidistant points from the couch.

Cas comes up behind him and rubs his back. It churns up Cas’ stomach, seeing Dean so pained, so upset, and so, so sick.

Dean coughs up the last of what’s in his stomach and rests his forehead against the faucet.

“There you go, handsome,” Cas hums. “You’re going to be okay.”

Dean whines and rights himself only so he can throw his arms around Cas’ shoulders. He’s heavy here against Cas’ chest, but he doesn’t pull away doesn’t move. He just strokes Dean’s hair and presses kisses to his sweaty forehead.

He wipes his lips, “Sorry, that was kind of gross.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my dad,” Dean chokes. There’s wetness seeping through Cas’ shirt, and Dean’s entire frame quaking beneath his hands. “I’m sorry I’m a fuck-up of a boyfriend.”

“You’re not a fuck-up, Dean,” Cas rubs big, soothing circles over Dean’s back. “I love you so, so much. I apologize for being so short with you earlier. I am very sorry that you lost your father, however long ago it happened.”

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”

“Dean, cut it out,” Cas frowns. “I’m not stuck with you, I’m free to leave whenever I so please. I don’t _want_ to leave you. I want to do whatever I can to make whatever you’re feeling better.”

But Dean’s too far gone to reply now. There is some ugly drunk crying going down on Castiel’s shoulder, and if he doesn’t keep his wits about him he’s going to end up crying because _Dean_ is crying.

“Come on, baby,” he coos and shifts so that he can walk Dean back to the room. He sits Dean down on the bed, but he’s too drunk and too upset to stay upright after Cas pulls off his jacket, so he just falls back and starts to choke on his own sobs.

God, he hasn’t been this bad in years.

“Hey,” Cas grabs one of his feet and pulls off his boot, and repeats with the other. “I’m taking off your pants so you can sleep comfortably.”

Dean’s only response is another choke, so Cas makes quick work of his worn out jeans and rolls him onto his side.

“There we go,” he hums and sits down on the bed. He lets Dean crawl into his lap and starts stroking his sweaty, greasy hair again. “I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“I fucked up s-so bad Cas,” Dean hiccups. “Everything.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Cas lowers his voice. “You’re safe here. You’re home, and I’m watching over you.”

“But _why_?” Dean wails into Cas’ sweatpants. “Why, I’m so fucking _pathetic_.”

Castiel’s eyes burn hot as he listens to the sheer anguish tearing out of Dean’s chest. He looks up at the ceiling, trying to keep his cool as he lays his hands on Dean. If he could take it all away with a palm pressed against Dean’s forehead, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“You’re worthy of love, Dean,” is what he ends up saying, voice a little gravelly with repressed tears. “Do you believe me?”

Dean makes a noise.

“Well, do you trust me?”

A twitchy nod follows, but a nod nonetheless.

“Then trust I’m telling you the truth when I say it again,” Cas leans down and murmurs in the shell of Dean’s ear, “You are worth every bit of love that I can give you and so, so much more, Dean. I promise you.”

It’s a while before Dean calms down enough to be able to sleep, and when he finally does nod off it’s an empty victory. Because as soon as Dean’s finally asleep, Castiel lets his wall come back down and, quite frankly? It feels a little like he’s been punched in the gut. He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, all he can do is silently wipe at the tears that roll down his cheeks and tell himself that it’s going to be okay.

Even if that’s not exactly how it feels right now.

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes with a splitting headache and a sour taste in his mouth. Cas is asleep beside him, brows knitted and breath coming softly. Shit, he got fucked _up_ last night. He sits up and climbs over Cas, his knee accidentally having a near miss with his nuts that rouses him.

“Sorry, big guy,” Dean pats his flank. “I gotta exorcise whatever the fuck is living in my mouth.”

“Excellent,” Cas mutters. “Take some Aspirin while you’re up.”

“Yes _mom_ ,” Dean snarks back, but does exactly as Cas says, because goddamn it he’s right.

He brushes his teeth and rinses his mouth out with this crappy hydrogen peroxide mouthwash because he’s pretty sure he’s got an entire metropolis of bacteria on his tongue.

He pops two Aspirin and sticks his head under the faucet for a mouthful of water. A wave of nausea hits, but he wills his gut to stay calm.

It’s probably mid morning, judging by the light pouring into their room, but Dean climbs back over Cas and onto his side of the bed.

“How do you feel?” asks Cas.

“Something tells me you know exactly how I feel,” Dean groans.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” Cas asks, voice unchanging. Shit. That usually means he’s done something idiotic. He feels Cas sit up, but he makes no move to follow.

“How fucked up was I?” he asks.

“Jo and Charlie had to bring you home,” Cas props his chin on his hand. “So, very. You were very fucked up.”

Dean presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans. He remembers bits and pieces of last night, and he knows that if he digs further he’ll find more.

He was crying into Cas’ shoulder, sobbing like a little fuckin’ schoolboy and Cas had to sit up with him and calm him down.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“Dean, last night was… disturbing,” Cas says, but for whatever reason, shit like that doesn’t carry the same weight as it would coming from someone else. “You were more upset than I think I’ve ever seen you. I realize that this weekend was difficult, I do.”

He takes a breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

“But if we’re as serious as we are about,” Cas gulps, “About bringing a child into this, then we have to go about helping you with whatever it is that triggers these responses.”

Double fuck.

The whole kid thing… they’ve talked about it. More than talked about it, they decided they’re going to do it. Cas wants a kid, he wants a kid, and Gabe is willing to convert the garage into a ‘bachelor pad’ so his niece or nephew will have a room of their own.

“Dean?” Cas prompts, and Dean sits up.

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to do it anymore,” he mutters. “The kid thing, I mean. You’re right, I’m not ready. That kid’s better off growing up with some well-adjusted dickhead straight couple that wear sweater vests and sell real estate.”

“Well, I don’t think anybody is actually ready for parenthood,” Cas poses. “True, we can’t exactly be surprised by a baby, but why shouldn’t we be afforded the luxury of going in blind like everyone else?”

Dean’s lips quirk up at that.

“And Dean, that’s not actually the issue,” Cas pulls his knees in close to his chest. “The issue is that there are some things about this weekend that have triggered you into destructive behavior. And yes, that destructive behavior makes me hesitant about having a child here.”

Dean groans.

Cas has been trying to get him to un-fuck the hardwiring up in his brain for years. Next is, “I think you might benefit from seeing someone, Dean.”

“Seeing someone what?” Dean comes back.

“You know what I mean,” Cas says very frankly. “Dean, I love you so much. You’re the best person I know. If there’s something out there that someone could teach you, or say to you to make you— _you_ —feel better, then of course I want you to do it.”

“Not seeing a shrink,” Dean shakes his head. “I don’t need anybody putting me on a bunch of happy pills so I can pretend I’m one of the fuckin’ Cleavers.”

“I’m not talking about pills, Dean,” Cas rubs his eyes now. “I’m talking about cognitive behavioral therapy.”

“And I’m talking about _I had a rough fuckin’ weekend_ , Cas,” Dean glares at him. “I may not have come out of it all nice and polished, but I came out of it.”

Cas deflates at that and rests his forehead on his knees. “I know,” he says, “I’m not trying to diminish that, believe me. Dean, I was so… upset for you last night. And worried. And I’d like to help in any way that I can and I have no clue how.”

One hand is in his mouth now, just having snuck up so he can gnaw on one of his fingernails. He bites it down fast and Dean sits up.

“Hey,” Dean sits up. “Take it easy, I like your fingers.”

Cas, only just having realized what he’s done, immediately drops his hand and hops to his feet. He rummages through his treasure chest and packs a pipe.

The pungent aroma of weed fills the air, and as Cas exhales so does Dean.

He sets the pipe down after a few hits and turns to Dean. The air still floats up into the air in jagged folds, and Dean grabs the back of his neck.

“Not like you can freak out and take a hit if we got a baby here either,” he says.

“I know,” Cas sighs. “I know.”

Silence falls between them. Dean cleans the crust out of the corner of his eye, while Cas lights up his pipe again.

A few minutes pass, and Cas is the first to say, “I can lay off the pot.”

Dean looks up and smiles at the sight that is Cas thinking seriously about cutting back, while holding a smoking pipe.

“It makes you feel better,” he says.

“Yes, but who’s to say that other things won’t make me feel better too?” Cas sets the pipe down and sits on the edge of their bed, beside Dean. He takes his hand in his and laces their fingers together. “I want a family, Dean.”

He rests his head against Dean’s, and Dean can’t help his smile.

“I do too,” he hums. “And I guess if you can cut back on pot, I can, uh. Cut back on the booze. And try to deal with my shit.”

Cas looks up.

“Really?”

“Ah, come on,” Dean shifts. “Don’t make it weird.”

Cas grips him by the back of the neck and pulls him into an overzealous kiss. Their noses crash and stoner of the year thinks it’s _funny_.

“Oh, yeah?” Dean challenges, and Cas giggles and nods.

“Yep.”

Dean pulls him in again and presses their lips together. Cas is smoky and delicious, pliant and content under his hands. Dean guides him back gently onto the mattress, kissing and nipping at his lips, his chin, his neck.

Cas sighs and arches into Dean.

“Missed this,” he huffs. “Missed you.”

They haven’t had a good and proper roll in the hay since Thursday. As if it knows, Dean’s cock aches at the thought. He looks down at Cas, at his wild, washed out blue hair, at his pink-rimmed blue eyes. His hands are above his head, his arms long and lean. Dean runs his thumb over the tattoo on his arm, the heart held safe in a cocoon of feathery angel wings.

The heart that matches Dean’s.

Dean dips down and presses a kiss right to the center of the tattoo, and then moves over to kiss Cas on the lips. He feels Cas’ arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in close, heat flushing between them.

Dean takes his sweet-ass time, licking and kissing over the hot spots on Cas’ neck, teasing his fingers down over his nipples and under his shirt.

He’s not so great with words, but he’s good at this. He’s good at worshipping every last part of Cas with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He was spelling out ‘I love you’ in kisses on Cas’ skin long before he ever got up the gall to say it.

Maybe today he can spell ‘I’m sorry’.

He pulls Cas’ shirt off his torso and discards it, tossing it where it’ll get lost between the wall and the bed.

Dean drags his tongue over his collarbone and down his chest, pausing to tease each of Cas’ nipples until there’s no breath left to voice his soft moans. He’s getting hard in his sweats, so Dean reaches down to tease.

“You’re such an asshole,” Cas breathes.

“Be nice to me, I’m touching your dick,” Dean chastises softly, coming back up to kiss Cas’ chin.

“Be nice to _me_ ,” Cas pouts and ruts against Dean’s hand. “I want you so badly, Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean grins. “What do you want?”

“Well, your cock comes to mind,” Cas replies frankly.

“How do you want it?” Dean kisses his jaw, soft and barely there. Cas’ eyes flutter shut. “Anything you want, baby.”

Cas moans deep in his throat and arches his perfect torso. Dean draws patterns over his skin, patient as he awaits Cas’ instructions. The color rises in patches all over Cas, his erection growing as Dean’s fingers trace lower and lower.

“Dean,” Cas sighs.

“What?”

“Please,” he begs, twisting under Dean. He opens his eyes and gives Cas this scandalized look.

“What?” Dean asks again.

“You’re still dressed?”

“I’ve been a little busy, Cas,” Dean sticks out his tongue. He should be prepared for when Cas does things like spring up and flip him over onto his back, but he hardly ever is.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean laugh-sighs as Cas sits right on his erection, grinding their hips together as he dips down for a kiss.

“What does it look like?” asks Cas as he masterfully pulls Dean’s t-shirt from his body. He’s a little doughy these days, but he supposes burgers and beer do that to a guy whose only strenuous physical activity involves fucking his boyfriend into a wall.

And still, Cas’ lips brush over him, revering every inch of the flesh that contain Dean. He bends lower and lower, and for a second Dean thinks he might be going in for a somersault.

“Hey,” Dean brushes the bangs out of Cas’ eyes. “Can you still do the thing?”

Cas’ eyes go wide, as though he has no idea what Dean could be talking about.

Come on.

What else would Dean be talking about?

“Can I still get my dick in my mouth?” Cas asks.

Dean nods.

“Yeah, of course,” Cas cocks an eyebrow, as though to say ‘ _who do you think you’re talking to_ ’?

Dean cradles Cas’ head against his chest as he starts playing with his nipple ring, laughing, “How do you do anything but suck your dick all day?”

“’cause I have you to do it for me,” Cas shrugs. “You’re better at it than me.”

“Aw,” Dean sighs softly as Cas’ tongue laps softly at the metal ring. “That’s sweet.”

Cas looks up at him and gives him a little pout, “Please, don’t dispute me.”

“God, get up here,” Dean laughs and pulls Cas up to kiss the pout off of his adorable, albeit serious face. His hands slip down Cas’ toned back and under the waistband of his sweats.

Castiel Novak, beloved partner and future father of his children, is not wearing any underwear.

“Goddamn, baby,” Dean grabs two handfuls of cheek and gives them a squeeze. Cas pushes back against him and twists to get out of his sweats, but all he ends up doing is falling over and laughing hysterically on the bed.

“What happened?” Dean grins.

“My pants got caught on my cock and I lost my balance,” Cas cackles, and Dean snorts.

“Allow me to be of some assistance,” he says, kissing the trail of hair that leads down from his navel into his sweats before he yanks them off.

“Now you,” Cas props himself up on his elbows, watching Dean intently as his dick lays flat against his belly. Dean flips him off, but obliges, and Castiel tips his head back and cackles.

“I swear, you’re such a weirdo,” Dean shakes his head and ducks down to take Cas into his mouth.

“You’re the one who puts up with it,” Cas reminds him gently as Dean starts to suck, combing his hair back with his fingers.

Dean pulls off him with a pop, keeping his hand working as he remarks, “It really is amazing what I’ll do for a nice dick, isn’t it?”

“It’s— _ah_ —it’s like sucking dick for drugs, but the opposite,” Cas says very thoughtfully.

Dean looks up from where he’s returned to sucking and just raises an eyebrow.

“What if you had to do crack for the pleasure of sucking someone off?” Cas reiterates, and Dean stills. “What the hell?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean laughs, and that does it. Cas descends into another laughing fit. “Okay, Giggles, just… don’t try to think too hard while I’m trying to give you head.”

Cas claps his hands over his mouth to stifle the onslaught of laughter, but it’s no use. Dean, just to be a pain, gooses him right under the knee where he’s most ticklish and has to pull off again so he can laugh without dismembering.

“God, what the fuck did you smoke?” Dean laughs.

“I don’t know,” Cas pants into his hands.

“Are you okay to do this?” Dean asks, though they’ve fucked plenty of times when one or both of them was high.

“Yeah,” Cas nods, sobering up as best he can (that is to say, not at all). “You should really, really get me all nice and ready. ‘cause I’d like your dick in my ass as soon as is convenient for the both of us.”

Dean’s cheeks flush and he nods, “As you wish.”

He reaches over into their nightstand to grab the bottle of fancy lube Cas sprung for the other week. Cas scoots up so his ass rests on Dean’s thighs, his legs spread open to reveal the pretty pink pucker between his cheeks.

God, Cas is gorgeous.

He drizzles lube onto the fingers of one hand and spreads Cas open with the other. Already he can see Cas’ muscles contracting, hungry for what’s coming. Dean’s own cock twitches at the sight, and before he can help it he reaches down with his slippery hand and strokes himself.

“Hey!” Cas pouts.

“Sorry,” Dean grins. “Couldn’t help it.”

Cas shifts closer, and Dean lets himself go so he can apply more lube and return to the task at hand. He slips one finger inside, and damn, he feels so fucking good.

Like he always does.

He presses another finger inside and grins as Cas purrs. Dean loves the way Cas sucks him in and _holds_ him there, like he never wants to let him go.

“Fuck, Cas,” he murmurs and bends to kiss Cas’ stomach.

“Not as far as I can tell,” Cas returns, and Dean pulls on his leg hair in retaliation. He massages into Cas’ prostate and grins as Cas keens under the attention.

“Can you tell now?” he asks.

“N-nope,” Cas shakes his head, grinning like a lunatic. “Can’t tell a damn thing. You may have to try harder.”

Even when Dean inserts a third finger, Cas stifles a yawn against his hand.

“Oh, you think you’re ready for somethin’?” Dean asks.

“Could be,” Cas shrugs, and yelps when Dean hits his prostate again. “Gue-guess we’ll never know, will we?”

“God, you are mouthy today,” Dean pulls out and slicks himself up. Cas can’t keep himself still. He wriggles and bobs his head to some tune that Dean can’t hear, and Dean chuckles.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s my ‘about to get some dick’ dance.”

“Provocative,” Dean nods and bends down to kiss him. Cas hangs on tight as Dean slides into him, and wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, holding him there once he’s in to the hilt. 

Dean peppers kisses all over Cas’ jaw, his chin, even that little spot below his ear that makes his face scrunch up every single time Dean touches it.

He knows Cas wants him to go hard, but.

Well, Dean would rather… not.

“What?” asks Cas.

“You, me,” Dean gulps, “Kinda just wanna stay like this, y’know?”

“Just the two of us?” Cas cocks his head. “Can we talk about the kid thing late when you’re not, uh—”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “Not like that. I just—here. Now. I don’t want it to be over.”

Cas blinks, and then kisses him again.

“Don’t think about it like that,” he runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, down his shoulder and over his arm. His palm closes over the tattoo on Dean’s forearm, thumb stroking the fuzzy lines. “Just be here. You’re not _was_ , you’re not _will be_ , you’re _are._ Present tense. So be here. Here it’s not over.”

Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s and takes a few breaths.

“And it’s never going to be over if you don’t move,” Cas whispers. “Just putting that out there.”

“Ass,” Dean mutters and snaps his hips into Cas, losing his breath at the sensation. This earns him a squeak, and then a laugh.

Dean takes Cas’ advice though—he has to sometimes, when he gets too caught up in his own head. He rolls into Cas, their bodies starting to synch as Cas’ giggly visage dissolves into something more spaced out, more blissful.

Being here is the best place he could be.

He blinks and catches Cas staring at him under heavily lidded eyes, smiling.

Dean can’t stop staring back.

The build is slow, but that’s okay. The longer they stay tangled up in a big, sweaty pretzel of limbs, the longer Dean gets to have this man all to himself.

Cas comes first, all long, chesty groans and pleas for ‘harder’ and ‘faster’, but Dean keeps his same steady, maddening pace and milks Cas’ orgasm for all it’s worth. Sticky white coats Cas’ stomach  and Dean’s hand.

Cas runs his fingers through it and looks up through his lashes at Dean.

Dean’s throat closes and he starts to thrust harder, faster. He hides his face in Cas’ shoulder, and Cas holds him through it, petting his hair and rubbing his back and telling him, _‘it’s okay, you’re okay’_.

And Cas lets him stay there as he comes down, rubbing his hands over his damp, sticky back and through his hair, at least for a few minutes.

“Hey, loverboy,” Cas kisses the tip of his nose. “Let’s get up before we’re super-glued together.”

“And save Gabe an awkward trip to the emergency room?” Dean asks and peels himself off of Cas.

His headache is back, even worse now. Cas grabs an unopened bottle of his purple Gatorade from under the bed and gulps down a mouthful. He offers it to Dean.

“You and your goddamned nasty taste in Gatorade,” he shakes his head, but takes it anyway.

Another few minutes and Cas asks, “How do you feel?”

“A little better,” Dean nods. Good enough for the time being that his bad thoughts are mostly nonexistent.

“Good,” Cas bounces up remarkably quickly for a guy who just got his ass fucked. “I could go for a fat stack of pancakes and a cup of coffee.”

He leans back down and tilts Dean’s face up by his chin.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dean hums.

He’s never been happier to speak the truth.


End file.
